Void Reaper: The Essence Apocalypse - Chapter 25: Maybe I judged them all too quickly

The hellhound is a legendary beast known for its fierce loyalty and formidable power, serving as a guardian of the underworld. During a cataclysmic cosmic conflict between gods and devils, the hellhound is tragically killed as collateral damage, his life extinguished in a battle far beyond his control.Millennia later, the hellhound is reincarnated as a human, awakening in a world that has forgotten his true nature. Retaining his past abilities, he must now attend a prestigious academy for those possessing supernatural powers, designed to train the next generation of guardians and warriors.As he navigates the complexities of human emotions and relationships, he must also confront the remnants of his past life. Whispers of the cosmic conflict still linger, and dark forces are at play, threatening to disrupt the fragile balance between realms. In a world where alliances are fragile and danger lurks around every corner, he must learn to embrace his identity as both a hellhound and a human.

Procrastinator extraordinaire, Fang Ning, had lost his consciousness after banging his head on a night of celebration. He woke up to a realization that he no longer had control of his body, as a System had taken it over. Will he eventually regain control of his body or will he be trapped in his body forever? How does he maneuver this situation? What’s in store for Fang Ning?

Before she met the system, Bai Yu always thought that she was a girl who was incomparably innocent who can’t understand.

After encountering the system, she dragged the sour and tired body day and night, greeting the system and the man for a thousand lives and 10,000 times.

– The final conclusion is that the body is fragile, and it need to be cherished.

This is a story of being crushed by one male after another.

- Description from Novelupdates

“Villains aren’t born, they’re made...blah...blah...”Cute quote. Stick it on your Tumblr header next to your anime pfp.You boys love your villain stories, don’t you?You want carnage. Chaos. Control. You want a dark throne, a cold smirk, and a woman kneeling at your feet begging for mercy.But you?You don’t want to lift a damn finger.You’ll cheer for the villain as he kills a god, but cry when he gets betrayed.You call it “plot armor” when the hero survives—but call it “art” when the villain does the impossible.You’re not fans of villains.You’re fetishists.You want the violence, but not the silence after it.You want domination, but not the burden of being hated.You want power, but only if the story forgives you for it.You don’t read these stories to understand evil.You read them because you think you're too good to win the normal way.“Villains don’t play fair.”Exactly. That’s why you love them.Because you wouldn’t last a day in a world where strength mattered and excuses didn’t.You don’t want a villain’s life.You want his results.You want to watch him burn the world for a woman.But you’d cry if a girl left you on read.So tell me—What exactly are you rooting for?At least unlike you, I support heroes—the ones with boobs.You know the type.Tits squeezed into latex, thighs tight in spandex, preaching virtue with cum-drunk eyes the moment they fall into my arms but always end up screaming my name instead.She flies above cities, saving lives like it’s her job.But at night? She crashes into my arms, trembling, moaning, clawing at my back like I’m the only real thing she’s ever touched.Her cape drops before her guard does.But I don't need to tear it off.She hands it over herself—bit by bit, kiss by kiss, lie by beautiful lie.You ever felt a heroine's breath hitch in your ear as she begs you to stop pretending you're the bad guy?Ever watched the symbol of hope ride you like you're the last man left after the world ended?That's not conquest.That’s devotion, baby.Unfiltered. Undeniable.And the irony?They fall the hardest.Because no villain ever tried to understand them. No hero ever dared to see past the shine and into the ache beneath.But I do.I whisper into the cracks of their perfection.I plant kisses where they hide their pain.I fuck them where they forget to wear their strength.And when they break—when their moans turn to prayers, when their strength melts into submission—That’s when I rise.I’m not just some brooding misfit out for revenge, or a misunderstood loner sitting around hoping for a shot at redemption.I’m not a villain.I’m the SUPERVILLAIN—the kind your heroines moan for when the cameras are off and the capes are crumpled on my floor.